


The Path to Valhalla

by solarlotus



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Afterlife, Beyond the Books, Dying wishes, M/M, Valhalla, how it ends, life long love, major character deaths, spoilers for books
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27139207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarlotus/pseuds/solarlotus
Summary: Finan and Uhtred are old, their road in Midgard is at an end. What will their fate be after?
Relationships: Finan/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	The Path to Valhalla

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after reading the last novel in the series, War Lord. This work includes characters from the books that haven't appeared in the show and spoilers, obviously, including character deaths. Please do not read further if you don't want to be spoiled.

My bones creak, the knee joints are the worst, especially when the haar moves in from the sea, cloaking the fortress on the rock that is my home with damp mist. I am made of creaking bones and memories. So many memories.

These days I hear my skalds sing songs of my victories and great deeds, though they do not match my memories. It is all exaggerated glories, designed to flatter me out of silver. But these days I do not stay long enough at my table to hear their songs and the cheers of my men. I take to my bedchamber early, where Benedetta, my woman, but not my wife, helps me undress and settle beneath the furs.

Finan is already there, normally propped up in bed with a half eaten bowl of stew or gruel. He is at least as old as me and at last the days have come when Finan’s health is failing. He coughs, wheezes and too much talking leaves him breathless. Some days Egil and I take him outside if he is strong enough to ride. We share a conspiratorial smirk as Egil, the strong handsome Norseman, who has more or less moved into the castle of late, hoists us bodily into the saddle. Benedetta _ouffs_ at me, she knows I do not need as much help as he gives me, but I rarely feel the touch of the young and handsome these days so I take it where I can.

Tonight, Finan is asleep, his breathing a painful rattle, when I crawl into bed beside him. The furs are drawn up to his neck as his eyes slowly open.

‘Uhtred,’ he murmurs. I draw closer to him, wipe a spot of stew from his grey beard with my sleeve. He reaches for my hand and I slip it under the furs and wrap my fingers through his. His other hand clutches his sword, which lies atop him, sheathed, but a constant companion. Finan believes he is doomed to the nailed god’s hellfire for his sins, the priests tell us that sins are forgiven, but Finan believes his fate is doom. Unless he can cross to Valhalla.

I can’t say I am sorry; the Christian heaven sounds like an eternity of dullness. Beocca once told me that in heaven men would sit on clouds and sing praises to the nailed god with the angels forever. He didn’t even know if there were any women in heaven. What is heaven without ale and humping? Finan would not like it. In Valhalla on the other hand we feast with our fellow warriors, drink, fight and spend the night humping whoever we like and Odin does not wish us to be angelic or sing his praises.

‘Uhtred,’ Finan mutters again. I lean in and kiss his cheek gently.

‘I am here.’

‘Don’t go,’ he rasps. ‘It is time… soon.’

‘No, no, you are strong,’ I tell him, my eyes filling with tears.

‘It is near, Uhtred.’ He closes his eyes, speaking has weakened him. I squeeze his hand, it is thin and frail now, like the rest of him. My warrior is fading.

‘Finan, my love,’ I say, choking back tears.

‘Bind my hand to my sword,’ he asks, lifting his eyelids.

‘Yes, yes,’ I say, hastily getting up and grabbing the ribbons from the table Benedetta uses in her hair. She is watching us silently. ‘Here,’ I say lifting the furs and wrapping the blue ribbon securely around Finan’s fist so his sword hilt is bound to him.

‘I will leave you tonight,’ Benedetta says softly, she walks to where I am crouched beside Finan, clutching his hands and leans forward to kiss him, on the forehead, then on the lips. She squeezes my shoulder. ‘I will pray in the chapel.’

I nod and slide back into bed beside Finan.

‘Uhtred,’ Finan says softly, his voice barely audible. ‘I have loved you more than anyone.’

‘And I you, I have loved you the best,’ I say, tears now falling softly down my cheeks.

‘Don’t weep for me, we’ve had some good times.’ He smiles, his eyes glassy and faraway in our past when we were young.

‘We’ve had the best times, you’re the best warrior and man I have ever known. You are my love.’ He squeezes my hand softly.

Finan was a warrior, the best I ever saw, no man could move like he could, no man was quick enough for him. He was always a fighter and loved fiercely too. He loved his late wife, he loved his children, his women.

He loves me.

‘I want to die in your arms.’

‘You’re not dying,’ I say stubbornly, knowing I speak a lie.

‘Please, please, sweetheart.’

It is the endearment that finishes me. I slip my aching arms under him and draw his head to my chest, arranging his sword across our bodies.

‘Sleep, my love,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll see you soon in Valhalla.’

~

I howled in the morning when I finally woke and he lay unmoving in my arms. Benedetta says I raised the whole castle, I shook his shoulders, buried my face in his chest and sobbed. Finan has never left me before. My foolish wife sent priests to wrap his body, I drew Serpent Breath and harried them out the room. I would wash Finan, I would wrap his body and lay it out.

The following day I had still not slept, nor left Finan. Father Cuthbert had come and put holy oil on his head, prayed over him with Benedetta. My wife, that pious fool, had stayed away, terrified by my raging grief.

I saw no light, no colour, I lived in my memories. Finan dancing around our enemies, Finan laughing, Finan at my side, Finan’s arms around me, Finan’s head thrown back as he downed ale, Finan leading the Mercian army to save us. Finan, all the colour in my life, all the joy. I barely remember a time without him.

Now he is with those others I have loved; Isuelt, Gisela, Stiorra, my lovers, my wives, Ragnar the younger, Ragnar the Fearless, my mother, Thyra, Beocca, Hild. Their faces swim before me.

There is nothing left for me in Midgard, my life is one the other side and I pray to the gods to take me.

On the second day Egil comes with a coffin, he places Finan inside and I weep over Finan’s body one last time before Egil and my son carry the coffin to Egil’s ship, which is fully crewed, ready to fulfil Finan’s wish to be buried with his ancestors in Ireland. I watch from the ramparts as Finan’s coffin is secured in the hold and the ship pulls away on the ebbing tide and turns north. Benedetta stands beside me holding my hand and I let her comfort me, let her lead me back to my bedchamber where I lie on the furs as Benedetta tries to coax me to eat. I turn my head from her.

~

It is not long, maybe a fortnight, then there are priests circling. I tell them to go away, I throw curses, but I don’t think they hear me. _Go away you fools, leave me,_ I shout. But they ignore me and mumble prayers. Then there is a skald who mutters in Danish and my sword, which I have clutched for every moment since Finan died, is secured to my hand with the same ribbons I tied Finan’s hand to his sword hilt with. I finally relax.

The world swims in and out, Benedetta is there, my son is there. I talk to Gisela, she is laughing, running from me on a summer’s day, making me chase her, but I can’t catch her yet. Then I see Isuelt, dark and solemn, smiling her mysterious smile, beckoning me to a meadow where Ragnar is fighting Ubba whilst Alfred looks on, judging the fight.

~

I arrive outside the great hall in the early evening. It is a greater hall than any I have seen, huge doors only a giant could open with giant ravens carved into the oak. They swing open for me and great hounds rush around me, sniffing my boots, I pet them and they quiet. The heart is burning brightly and there are endless tables piled high with a huge feast. Women in pale dresses with loose hair, hung with flowers are dancing and pouring ale. I smile, then the chanting starts.

It starts with a thumping on the table, the men, my friends and foes, Ragnar, Ubba, Cnut, more Norsemen than I can count, leading the cry of my name. ‘Uhtred is here, Uhtred, lord of Bebbanbugh!’

‘Undefeated warrior!’ Finan cries, his face joyful and exultant, his dark hair and beard glossy, his face smooth and unmarred by age. He runs to me, and my body no longer creaks with age, the hair that lies on my shoulders is not grey and when he flings his arms around me, he is as muscular as I ever knew him.

‘You came,’ he whispers into my neck as men cheer and women whoop. ‘We’re together again.’

‘Always,’ I say. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my happily ever after!


End file.
